Sign in

Super Bowl Gris-Gris

In and around New Orleans, the remarkable success enjoyed by the Saints this football season, culminating in the team’s first Super Bowl appearance, can be partly explained by the favorable influence of gris-gris. The term, pronounced “gree-gree,” technically refers to a voodoo amulet, composed of graveyard dirt, eyes of newt, and other readily available local ingredients, meant to ward off evil spells; in looser usage, gris-gris translates roughly to the dark magic itself, which can be directed in favor of, or against, a particular party’s interests. The Saints are a talented and imaginative team, but only gris-gris can account for some of their unlikely victories this season, including the win over the Vikings in the conference championship game, in which Minnesota’s Brett Favre inexplicably abandoned all football sense, tossing a doomed late-game pass into the hands of a Saints defender. A few weeks earlier, after the Washington Redskins mysteriously came apart and gave the Saints their twelfth consecutive win, Saints safety Darren Sharper credited unnatural forces. “Maybe the little voodoo dolls they’ve got back in New Orleans, somebody might have done a little tinkering or something like that,” he said.

If Saints fans are inclined to credit such thinking (and they are), it is only because they know the power of gris-gris of the unfavorable sort, which has gripped the franchise from the very beginning of its existence. You may take my word for it.

Shortly after one o’clock on the very muggy afternoon of Sunday, September 17, 1967, a rookie named John Gilliam received the opening kickoff in the very first Saints game, and ran down the middle of the field straight toward me. I was sitting with my father deep in the end zone seats at the old Tulane Stadium, as Gilliam, with only a couple of slight feints, ran ninety-four yards to our end of the field, for a touchdown. The lady in front of me, dressed liked she’d just come from church, turned around and kissed me. Al Hirt, who was a part owner of the team, danced around at midfield, blowing his trumpet. It all seemed too wonderful to be real.

But it was real. The Saints managed a field goal, and led the Los Angeles Rams, and their star quarterback, Roman Gabriel, by 10-6, until, with two seconds remaining in the first half, Gabriel crossed the goal line and gave the Rams the lead. The halftime entertainment included a New Orleans funeral band, which, as things turned out, was appropriate. The Rams dominated the Saints in the second half, and won the game by 27-13. The Saints proceeded to lose their next seven games, too, managing only three for the season. Gris-gris.

In 1971, the Saints signed my hero, Ole Miss quarterback Archie Manning, who had more talent than either of his famous sons—more cunning than Peyton, more pluck than Eli. But for some reason, the team could not give Archie the No. 18 he’d worn to glory in college. Instead, he was No. 8, which diminished him, somehow. Archie was a Saint for a decade, much of which was spent on his back, after getting hammered by opposition linemen. In his second season, Archie led the conference in passing yards; the team won two games. He finished his career a living testament to wasted talent; he still ranks among the league’s all-time passing leaders, but he also holds the N.F.L. record for the worst losing percentage.

The Saints got a dramatic venue change in 1975, when they moved to the optimistically named Superdome. New address, same results. Locals say the dome was built over an old Cajun graveyard. Super gris-gris.

There is no bond between a city and its N.F.L. team like that between New Orleans and its beloved Saints. From that first game, the Saints became a perfect reflection of the city—fun, flashy, and ultimately dysfunctional. Until now.

There has been much talk this season associating the Saints’ fortunes with the post-Katrina hopes of their battered city. A subtext of the Super Bowl storyline is that the Saints are on a mission, and are somehow fated to achieve a miracle victory over the favored Indianapolis Colts. I hope it happens, but in my heart, I know that it won’t. We will hear from the CBS commentators that even the Colts’ quarterback is a Saints fan, and all about how Peyton grew up in the Saints’ locker room when his Daddy was a player and broadcaster for the team. There may even be moments when it will seem like Drew Brees and the Saints have an actual chance.

And then, Peyton Manning will almost certainly set about the dismemberment of the Saints defense. That’s how gris-gris works.